Does not compute.

I have one of those minds that is forever spinning things round and round until they make sense. If they do not make sense I wake up in the middle of the night to my brain aching from trying to make it make sense. Am I making sense? Over the past year I have had a lot to occupy my nocturnal musings. Things that I just cannot get to add up. If 2+2 does not equal 4 then your boy is not happy.

So it is that I have battled with Global warming, the Iraq war, the Israeli - Palestinian conflict, the Iran nuclear programme, the axis of evil. But lately the thing that has kept me awake the most is something even more perplexing than all the above. Yes, it is the Tom Cruise- Katie Holmes marriage. You too right?

So here's my problem:
- Tom is married to the very lovely Mimi Rogers for years. No kids. They divorce.
- Tom is married to Nicole Kidman. No kids. They adopt. One black. One white. (Aww. How cute. ) Anyway they divorce.
- Rumours start flying round that Tom is gay.
- Tom goes on Oprah and does a couch thing professing his love for a girl\woman.
- Nicole marries drunk, druggie country guy and gets pregnant. Proves she can.
-Tom marries girl (Katie) who used to have his poster on her wall when she was a child.
- Katie gets pregnant very quickly. Has baby.
-Tom marries Katie and apparently grows six inches during the ceremony (according to the pictures)
- Everyone lives happily ever after.

Except yours truly, who lies awake wondering how come the first two wives did not get pregnant. Why adopt with Nicole? Why not just you know, knock her up? Surely much more fun. How much is in for Katie? How long before the "irreconcilable" differences?

My brain hurts.

A cry for the innocent.

I weep for my youngest daughter

who through no fault of her own

has now been labelled

not as mixed race, yet,

she will have that to deal with later

but as autistic

it's mild they say

like that's a comfort

we reel in horror

from the tag

now things make sense

her not speaking

staring into space

laughing at shadows

but we are nothing

if not people of God

so we turn our hand to prayer

and slowly, ever slowly

the fog lifts

over the days, months, years

it is not fully clear yet

but some days

we swear we can see the sun

shining from her eyes.

We worry so about the future

and what is yet to come

next year she starts in big school

but she is still so small

not her body, but her mind

sheltered as she has been

cuddled deep within our love

and now here comes

the big bad world

will she understand the bullies

when they call her names

and point, and laugh

she is so sensitive

sometimes when she wakes

the first thing she remembers

is a slight from the day before

"so and so pinched me" she cries

"or pushed me"

she just wants to be their friend

give them hugs and kisses

she does not understand

and we cannot explain.

With every year comes changes

all so far for the better

long may they continue

until one day we can see the dawn

like clouds floating away

to reveal a sky so blue

or dark curtains parting

to reveal our star in waiting

and maybe one day

without prompting

she will be able to say

"daddy, I love you"

until then I will continue to cry

for the innocent.

Intimacy

We were at the theatre to watch a play

a drama

i cannot even recall the name

as the drama unfolding before my eyes

was much more

dramatic

as we prepared to take our seats

at the start of the play

a couple swept past us to find theirs

i only caught the back of their heads

i watched them

as they made their

way down the ailes

finally found their seats next to another couple

seems they were friends

and then it happened

they all stood up to exchange pleasantries

and the man, during the conversation,

put his hand on the small

of the other lady's back

just above the rise

and left it there

for far too long it seemed to me

it seemed too

familiar

like it had been there before

her husband could not see

nor could his wife

as they were all facing forward

but i could see enough

for all of us

i held my breath

i waited for the hand to move

but still he held it there

daringly

finally as the lights dimmed

he removed it

and she did not flinch

like she had had it there before

like it belonged there

like she liked it there

i wonder if he knew

her husband, that is

that when he went to work

his friend

had his hand

on the small of his wife's back

and i wonder if she knew

the wife

that her husband

had his hand on her friend's back

and held it there

Drama.

Boys in da hood.

I went to cut my hair last weekend (aha, wait now, let me land. No sniggering at the back). There is hair there although it is fair to say that to the untrained eye it is hardly worth maintaining but to the professionals there is still work to be done. I can't help it if I am a trendsetter by going for the "low cut" look way before it became fashionable. I'll share a secret with you. The next big thing is going to be.... nose hairs. Don't ask me how I know just keep it to yourself, wait and see.

Anyway, I was at the barbers with these two young black guys. What struck me about them was how they were almost identikit stereotypes. Jeans, crisp white trainers, t- shirt, jeans jacket \ hoodie. They were both on the phone and it was easy to ascertain that they were talking to their laydeez.

I then started thinking about the loss of individuality (IMO) amongst this demographic. I get a sense that it is better (and far easier?) to conform to the thug life , lover boy, smooth operator stereotype than to establish any sort of credible counter identity. Of course they were younger than me and are of a different generation but I seem to be seeing the same person everywhere I go. I wonder where the revolutionaries are going to come from?

This trend has now found its way to Nigeria where the kids are now going around flashing their underwear at all and sundry (a sin in my day. I could not even leave home unless my shirt was tucked in and I had a belt on). My nephew arrived back from school recently with his tie askew, his belt done very loosely and his trousers tucked under the flap of his trainers. I asked him what he thought he was playing at and he said that I needed to get with the programme and that this was the "new school" way of dressing. It showed that he was "cool and one of the homies". He then asked me for money for some food. I politely declined as I am old school, and so is my money.

Black boys in the UK are generally noted as lagging behind in the educational system (although last week it was reported that they had been overtaken by white boys- hurrah) and as such are not really challenged educationally. Iyawo's friend sent her son to a very expensive private school in North London despite the fact that she was a single mother just scraping by herself (no judgements. just stating the facts) but she wanted to ensure he got the best education possible (naija style). She arrived at school one day to check on his progress to find her son sitting at the back of the class doing some drawing whilst the rest of the class was being taught a lesson. When she challenged the teacher she was informed that as her son liked art and drawing they basically left him to get on with it whilst they carried on with their lessons. "Is this a one-off" she enquired of her son. "Oh no mum, it happens every day". She immediately moved him to another school.

So what does the future hold for black male youth? Who has the answers? Have they been totally brain washed by the nu media- mtv (where all the women have perfect teeth and breasts. My perosnal gripe but that's another blog) or can they still be saved and if so how? What incentive is there for them to be different? And is different really all that attractive anyway?

WTF £$%$ NEPA wahala

So I get a text from my brother in response to me asking how things are going in Lagos to say he is stressed. Okay, this is Lagos. You expect a bit of stress. Next thing I know I am getting texts from my sista, also inLagos, saying she has to get out of Naija for a week to de-stress. Aha, this was strange. Both siblings. Has Dad been on the lecture circuit again?

So I call home and am told the following : yesterday morning, my sister arrived at my parent's house where she runs a small gift shop to be met by two representatives from Nepa. This is not unusual and has become an almost monthly routine. This time there is an old timer and a new guy. They have come to disconnect the power. Again. Now my parents have lived in that house for over 30 years. Sometime two years ago, despite getting a monthly bill averaging N20k, for God knows how long, they suddenly received a bill for N550k for one month. Now my Dad used to be a banker and he is very sharp on his numbers but even my mum who was not a banker could recognise what we in the West would politely call an "anomaly" or more crudely a "cock up".

Since then it has been a case of file in hand trips to all the local Nepa offices as well as the Area office in Ijora. Promises are made, credits are promised, mistakes are to be rectified but till today- well jack. Which is why these two goons show up. Every time they are shown the file, told to go to Ijora to check the record of my parents visits and the accompanying paperwork which proves that a mistake was made but you know visiting Ijora would bring an end to the "social visits" for these clowns so the game continues. After all baby needs milk and so forth.

Yesterday however the game changed. This new goon arrives as my mother is trying to feed my brother's new baby. My sister arrives to find him waiting and he says to her that how can this woman (my mother) be wasting his time, siting upstairs and keeping him waiting downstairs. Who does she think she is? blah, blah,blah. He should just cut the power and show her who's boss. This is when the torch paper was lit.

Now let me say if you met myself and my siblings you would think we were the most balanced of adults and must be a source of pride and joy to our parents. Which of course we are :->. However, if you want see our other face, cross the line and abuse one of us or our parents and the gates of hell will open ( or as Fela put it, rat dey sleep, cat go bite him tail. wetin he dey find?)

So it was that this idiot felt the full venom of the family. My mother had to leave the baby feeding, my brother had to be restrained and my sister spent the day having severe palpitations after the tongue lashing that was dished out to the idiot - hence her desperation to head for the land of the free.

So my people, not only are we harassed outside the house by police, Lastma, area boys, dirt, smoke, street traders etc but now, even our private abode, our last refuse, our sacred sanctum, is now no longer free of harassment (forget about armed robbers in the night. What about these armed robbers during the day?). These people (my parents) are retired, they have served their time, they pay their (correct) bills on time. They just want to sail into the sunset with their children and grand kids around them savouring what is left of the fruit of life. But no. They cannot even do that in peace. What is a nation to do?

I will be in Nigeria in two weeks and I am just praying with all my might that he shows up again. Make una keep an eye on AIT news for further updates. See what I will do to the useless vagabond. Idiot. Conconbility. Oloshi.

Spirits having flown.

It was the first day of our first family holiday. We had arrived in the Algarve in Portugal with the new addition to our family along with some of my wife's friends. My Naija friend's don't travel - not sure if it is pali related but - "ehn Portugal? wetin I go go do there?" they ask. "Relax, swim, enjoy the beach and culture?" I volunteer. "Beach ko, beach ni. If I want culture I go go Naija" they respond.

So it was with that usual mix of excitement and trepidation of stepping into the unknown that we collected our hire cars and set off to find the villa we had rented.

After a series of wrong turns, misinformation (probably due to the language barrier) etc we finally arrived and thank God it actually looked and seemed to match what we had booked on the internet (you can never be sure). We unpacked excitedly, portioned out the rooms, lit the fire as it was a bit nippy what with all the marble floors etc and generally settled into our home for the next ten days. That's when it happened.

Iyawo had taken FB (first born, do try and keep up) to the kitchen to warm her milk. As there was no kettle she had to boil the water in a pot. She had FB on one shoulder and as she turned around to reach for the bottle , FB's foot swung through with this motion and kicked the boiling pot of water which proceeded to spill all over said foot. This is when the screaming and crying ensued (although Iyawo did try to placate me as best she could).

Anyways, here we were in a strange house, in a strange town, in a strange country. We did not have and could not find a first aid kit. There were no phones in the villa - fixed or mobile (in those days very rarely did they have phones) and we had no neighbours to ask for help as the closest villa was deserted.

So it was with some panic that we jumped into the car - by this time we are talking 11pm in the evening - to try and find a hospital\ clinic as the foot was badly blistered and the tears were still flowing - this time from the injured party herself.

Driving around in the dark - I now know the true meaning of the phrase - is not pleasant in the best of circumstances as the occupants of Ikoyi, VI, Suru-lere, Lagos ...er Nigeria will tell you. Driving around in the dark in a strange country is doubly taxing but off we went. We headed for the only area where we assumed the main town would be. See when we booked the villa we had booked under the assumption that we wanted something remote, away from prying eyes , quiet and secluded. Now we were paying for it.

Arriving at an area I had spotted was lit but it turned out it came from peoples homes. I could not however break the worldwide man code to stop and ask a complete stranger for directions despite the screaming and yelling - this time from Iyawo. I was determined to find the hospital on my own.

After a further expanse of pressure filled time we ended up in an even more remote area that was again pitch black. This is when we saw her. In the middle of what I can only describe as a forest with a tarred road chiseled in between stood a young lady - early twenties. Now this shocked me because despite my strapping frame (it was at that time I tell you) I would not have fancied standing out on this stretch of road. Olurun maje (God forbid). But there she was. As she was a woman and as Iyawo's fingers were now drawing blood from my arm I felt it necessary to stop and ask for directions. I was expecting to be met by a stream of Portuguese most of which I would not understand. Instead we were greed by a very nice English accent.

We explained our predicament and she immediately told us that there was only one pharmacy clinic in the area, It opened late, she knew where it was, knew the owner and would take us there if we would give her a lift. Needless to say, there was no debate. We arrived at the pharmacy, it was still open, we were attended to, all the screaming and crying stopped but when we turned around to express our thanks, she was gone. We asked the pharmacist if he knew who she was and he said no he had never seen her before.

It was only later when things has calmed down back at the house, FB was fast asleep, tea had been had, that we started to ponder this meeting. We were in a remote part of the Algarve, it was on a deserted stretch of motorway, she spoke our language, she knew exactly where to go to get what we needed, she disappeared into the night. Could she have been........ No. It's not possible. Or is it?

Four Seasons in one day.

Today at about two pm I left home to take the kids to the park for their daily run without which they go into the evening hyper and frustrated like caged animals (wonder how we will manage this one in Naija). As we opened the front door it started to rain. Kids fired up on going to the park do not understand "we have to wait for a little while" so it was on with the wellies and raincoats and off we went. I drove around a little bit, stopped for a bit of shopping (had to throw in some chocolate of course to break up the chorus of "this is not the way to the park! Goodness sakes.").

We finally made it to the park and as we got there, the rain stopped.

Five minutes later I was standing in the middle of the park with the kids running round doing their Power Rangers thing, the grass was glossy from the recent rains, the sun was shining although it was still bitterly cold, the sky went from a dull grey to a vibrant blue, an aeroplane roared past overhead carrying the lucky ones to some exotic destination (or Manchester:->), a man walked his dogs, horses huddled in the next field, and it suddenly occurred to me that despite the :

haters (seen a lot on recent blogs)
work (nuff said)
stress of life and living
bills
strange calls from strange people in distant call centres
playing cat and mouse with the Traffic warden ninjas
worry about the future
worry about the present
worry about the past

over and above it all - the world is, and can be, such a beautiful place.

I thank God for his blessings.